Future Past
by flashing
Summary: When the dead corpse of a young auror appears mysteriously in Dumbledore's office, four Hogwarts students are sent into a future world where they face the Final Battle and find true love . . HD slash, other pairings
1. Chapter 1

A village just outside Paris, January, 2007

The auror known as Weston ran through the darkened tunnel, mindlessly, knowing stopping would mean-- Weston did not deliberate for one moment on that fact. Death had become a part of life now, so interwined Weston hardly knew where one began and the other ended. This was no longer about one auror's life, no, it had become the struggle of every wizard in the world.

Weston passed through the icy tunnels quickly, leaving long breaths of smoke behind. There was no time to waste, none at all-- if only there was some way to contact someone! A turn came, and Weston realized with a shock that there were no other turns left. Cornered!

The black cloak came out of the proverbial nowhere, and for the first time Weston noticed the stalactites and stalagmites rising and reaching all about, as if about to swallow them both whole. Weston watched the wizard as he approached, carefully, assured of his fate. He would be the victor here, the gait was unmistakable. And Weston would be dead, another anonymous auror's life swallowed whole in this great struggle.

"Weston," the voice drolled out. A high class voice, pretenous, self assured. Weston knew the voice, knew it well. Despised it.

"Malfoy," Weston said sharply, "The game's over. It ends tonight."

"Yes," Malfoy sneered. "Tell me where it is, Weston."

"You know I don't know that."

"Either way," Malfoy said, as if bored with the charade, "You are going to die, Weston. What good is it to save Harry Potter now?"

The wand was now inches away from Weston's face. This was not going to be a short, painless death. Malfoy was going to make sure that Weston paid dearly, not only for being an auror and as such a natural enemy, but for Weston's involvement in the entire affair. Weston was too close to Harry Potter to die with some semblance of humanity.

"Tell me where they are, Weston, and you might live long enough to contact Dumbledore."

Weston's eyes opened brightly. If Dumbledore could know-- there might be a way. Weston shifted, weighing the options. If there were Death Eaters nearby-- but if there weren't any-- Harry was a brilliant wizard, and his auror partner was nearly better. There was a chance. Why was Malfoy giving this chance? There was some other ploy, but in a manic state between life and death, Weston couldn't think clearly enough to see it. Either way, the auror thought, death and life swung in the balance.

"You fucking bastard," the auror laughed. It was a low, manic laugh, the laugh of a person who had lived too many years stuggling in what seemed vain to do the right thing. Weston hoped, prayed, that there was still a chance. There had to be a chance. "They're at Malfoy fucking Manor. Like that little bit of irony?"

Time seemed to pause, twist, turn on itself and then speed up again. Weston was muggle-born and might have lost the wand earlier in the fight, but the auror had something else. Muggles were brilliant at finding ways to kill each other, Weston mused grimly, taking out the pistol. It was heavy and unfamiliar, but Weston knew how to use it. A shot went out into the dark, aimed toward the Death Eater.

At the extact same moment the curse left Malfoy's sneering mouth, and the wand aimed at Weston struck, hit, and the pain, the knowing pain that accompanied the end of life was there. But there was still a chance. Weston had gambled to win, the auror always gambled to win. Weston grasped the golden string about the bloody, unfamiliar neck of the man she had killed and turned the miniature hourglass as many times as possible in quick succession.

"Merlin save me," Weston gasped as the vortex spun and sucked the auror into the past.

In April 1999, the bloodied corpse of Juliette Weston laid on the floor of Albus Dumbledore's office at the Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One: Visitors

One hour after Juliette Weston's body was removed from the office, Albus Dumbledore had gathered the future coalition leaders together in Minerva McGonagall's office. Along with Minerva stood Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and Walter Weston, the older brother of the deceased.

Sitting, head in hands after he apparated, Walter Weston was the first person to speak. "My sister's just a kid, Professor," he said, directing his confusion to Dumbledore. "She's at Durmstrag studying. I can't understand it, I can't! Are you telling me she's going to die in eight years?"

"No one is saying that, Walter," Dumbledore said calmly, looking at the young man's contorted face. "This is one possiblity of a hundred. The future is a precarious thing, my friends. You knowing this information may be enough to change the future and let Juliette live."

Walter looked up hopefully after that, and Dumbledore sighed. He hoped this one small lie would be the only one he would have to tell tonight. For though there was no way to change the evitable death of Juliette Weston, there was a good possibility that her death might save the lives of the others. It was a pity, but Albus Dumbledore recognized the courage of the frail figure he had found in his office. She had knowingly given her life so that others might live.

"So what do we know from Juliette's recordings, Professor?" Lupin asked. Juliette Weston had recorded several conversations between Death Eaters, and the group assumed this was the reason she was hunted down and killed.

"Mercifully little," Dumbledore said. "The less we know of the future, the better. From what is heard Voldemort is dead, as we all hoped and prayed, but his evil continues. There is someone leading the Death Eaters now, the person who killed Juliette Weston. I have no idea who it is. The rest of Juliette's tapings were . . . were of a personal nature."

"A personal nature?" Walter Weston repeated. "What sort?"

"Your sister was a friend of Harry Potter, most of the tapes are of them talking, with others," Dumbledore began, slowly. "She was part of a group of Aurors in London who were sworn to protect each other against the Darkness. Juliette died knowing a secret, Walter. The secret of where Harry Potter lived."

"Wait," Severus Snape said, asserting his place in the group. "I thought the reason for Juliette's death was the information on the taping."

"Partly, Severus," Dumbledore sighed. "Only partly. Juliette and the other Aurors were not only protecting themselves, but Harry Potter as well. It seems that the Death Eaters were looking for vengeance, in any form they could take it. Harry's life was in danger and so it seems he was taken to a safehouse of sorts. Few people knew the location, from the tapes, and it seems Juliette was the last of the aurors to be discovered. The others-- the others killed themselves to assure that the Death Eaters would never be able to extort the information."

"Great gods," Minerva McGonagall said, putting a hand to her mouth. "Those poor children, Albus!"

"Yes," Remus Lupin said, running a hand through his hair. "But if Juliette lived, she may have told the Death Eater. And if she did, it could be guessed that Harry and whoever else were in the safehouse are now in danger, in the future."

"Quite right, Remus," Dumbledore said. "I believe she did this to warn us. The Death Eaters were searching for Harry, but their reign of horror was not going to end there, it was every last wizard who had defied Voldemort who was going to die, and then who would be next: Muggles? their dreaded 'mudbloods'? squibs?"

"Still," Snape said, after the intial shock and mumblings had died down, "I hardly see how Harry Potter would be able to stop them all, alone."

"If Harry defeated Voldemort," Walter Weston said, suddenly gaining strength from his grief, "he could knock out a few aging Death Eaters as well."

"It is not just Harry who is danger on that night," Dumbledore said, "he has a partner with him, perhaps the second best wizard in the world. And for private reasons, this Death Eater wants him dead as well."

"Who is with him, Albus? And who is the Death Eater?"

"Juliette does not say," Dumbledore looked at Professor McGonagall. "She seems to have assumed we would know this, I believe she might have sent herself too far back into the past. But she does leave us one other piece of information: the safehouse could only be entered and exited by certain persons for protection's sake. It was done by such powerful magic that they are still, past, present, or future, the only ones who can enter the safehouse."

"Who are they, Albus?"

"Harry Potter, of course," Dumbledore began, "Juliette herself, Hermoine Granger, Ronald Weasely, and Draco Malfoy."

"Draco Malfoy!" The chorus was nearly complete.

"It seems quite a bit has changed in the future," Albus Dumbledore chuckled to himself as if in a private joke.


	3. Chapter 3

Aww, I got reviews, yeay, thankies.So I'll put some notes about this fic, other than the character are not mine, etc. This is actually a little vehicle for a longer, novel-length one I'm still typing up, which seems to be everyone's favourite (I've posted it elsewhere).

Well, here starts the slashing, don't say I didn't warn you.

Chapter 2:

It was potions class, and the potions master, Severus Snape, was nowhere to be seen fifteen minutes into the class. At the begining the students had sat silent, retient, knowing that this might be a ploy to get them to act up and have points taken away from their houses. But ten minutes into the bizarre charade, the students had broken out into groups with a small humming talk erupting between them.

"Maybe he messed about with a potion and turned himself into a chair," Ron Weasely said happily, leaning back on his own.

"Why a chair?" Harry Potter asked, amused.

Hermoine Granger looked at them disapprovingly. "Someone should go for a teacher. It isn't right that we're all sitting here nothing doing."

Across the room, Draco Malfoy sat, flanked between his two cronies Crabb and Goyle. Bored out of his mind, and midly annoyed at his godfather for going missing during his favourite class, Draco hunched over and listened in on the conversation between the three Gryffindor.

"Why don't you go for a teacher, mudblood?" Draco asked lazily, to the amusement of the rest of the Slytherin about the room. "Or are we too frightened that Professor Snape really is in the room?"

Ron Weasley turned as red as humanly possible. "Why don't you take a long walk on a short pier, Malfoy?" He hissed, pleased to use Hermoine's muggle phase.

"Oh, Weasel, stick to begging for alms and leave insults to _intelligent _people," Draco said, bored. Soon the classroom was silent, watching Ron try to sputter out a response. The Slytherin was hardly paying attention to him; it wasn't he Draco wanted a rise out of. As if on a cue, Harry stood up and approached the opposing table.

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy," Harry said slowly, "Or I'll see to it you won't be able to open it for a week."

A general 'ooo' chorus erupted in the room. Draco stood up smoothly, easily, and opened his mouth widely. "Oh, have I upset the Boy Who Lived? Poor widdle Harry Potter, all alone with his dumb Gryffindor friends. Buy a comb Potter, and do a spell to get rid of those ridculous Muggle shards of glass over your eyes and maybe then we can talk."

Harry was livid, and when he was angry his eyes flashed a very bright green. Draco Malfoy tensed in anticipation. This was going to be a good fight, and both relished the idea secretly. Harry tried not to notice the enviable poise that the other boy had, easy and smooth, his white hair shining like a beacon of insolence. With their wands out, they approached each other, eyes locking sharply.

They stood, merely looking at each other with a visible anger which concealed a mutual fascination, until someone in the back of the room yelled, "Duel!" Everyone clamored for a place closest to watch the boys.

"You'll be sorry, Malfoy," Harry said confidently, not paying any attention to the sparkle in the other boy's gray eyes. He would not look at his mouth, the too red mouth, with its feminine lips. There was something about Malfoy's mouth that piqued Harry's curiosity . . .

"We'll see," Draco replied, amused at the way Harry ran his fingers through his hair and it stood even more on end. It was almost . . . endearing wasn't the word . . . Draco's mind snapped to attention sharply.

Just before either could speak a word, curse, or spell, Severus Snape rushed into the room, his cloak seeming miles behind him. "Sit down you two and put you wands away," he barked, without looking at either of them. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor for goading a Slytherin into an argument."

"Professor--" A voice came from the back of the room. It was not a student protesting however, but Professor Dumbledore. A quiet, almost impercetable awe fell over the classroom.

Instantly, both Harry and Draco were worried, for it seemed as though Dumbledore was eyeing them. But no, the aging wizard was only viewing the pair with pity. For from what he had seen, the future would not be a kind mistress to either . . .

A Countryside English Cottage, Summer, 2006

"Close your eyes, Potter, or I'll have to tape them shut," Draco Malfoy said, putting his hands over the bright green ones as he spoke.

"It's not like I can see without my glasses on, Draco," he said peevishly, though he was excited about the surprise.

Draco Malfoy stood in front of the mirror looking silently at the pair of reflections which were presented to him. They had grown up so much, he thought nostalgically, from the two awkward boys who had met to kiss secretly underneath the quidditch bleachers. Harry was so much taller, he had a growth spurt during their last year, and years of training had left him with a muscular, toned appearance. It had also changed his face, the curves of boyhood were gone, his face had a sharper glow, his eyes were cautious, calculating. But there was no doubt that in spite of his habitual messy hair and clothing and glasses (or because of them, Draco could never decide), that Harry Potter was a very handsome man.

Draco's eyes flintered over his own reflection and amused, he removed a piece of lint from his black Armani sweater. Interesting how flattering Muggle clothing could be . . .

"Can't stop staring at your reflection for one moment, Malfoy?" Harry asked rhetorically, his mouth curving into a smile over Draco's hand.

"I was looking at you too, git," Draco responded simply.

Harry laughed outright. "Did you like what you saw?"

Draco moved his hands from Harry's eyes and spun him around. "I always like what I see in the mirror."

"Stuck up little--" Harry couldn't get any further with the insult before Draco's mouth had clasped possessively over his own. Draco had Harry's head in his hands and he brought his lips crushingly against his own. He always hesitated for an imperceptable second before relaxing against Draco's full, soft mouth. There was no doubt he was a good kisser, he was a bloody fabulous kisser, and Harry was flushed and breathless when Draco tipped back his head and found the soft crevice of his neck.

"Draco," he mumbled, trying to hold onto some semblance of control. "What about the surprise?"

"It can wait," he growled in response. They were against the wall, Harry could feel the raised pattern of the floral design against his back when Draco lifted up his t-shirt and it fell silently to the floor.

He felt Draco everywhere, it was as though he was consumed entirely in the blond, there was no definte borders between them, and this was precisely the way Harry liked it. For in these moments the past was all forgotten and there was just one thing and one giant need between them. The reaction was tight in his pants, a fit of vanity had made Harry choose a pair of tight trousers and now they were nearly as unbearable as Draco's crushing lips against his own.

"Gods," he finally breathed out, followed by an oath. "You're going to kill me one day, Malfoy, do you know that?"

The hazy vision of Draco, his lips curled up to a sardonic smile was somewhere in Harry fragmented mind. A hand stroked the considerable bulge against his pants and Harry moaned softly. "Someone's a bit aroused, isn't he?" Draco's voice said, almost mockingly, ignoring the hardness against his own jeans. "Well, well, Mr. Potter," he said lazily. "What are we going to do about that?"

"Don't fuck about, Draco," he said, moving the blond's torturous hand away from his crotch.

"I'm not," said the gray eyes, turning serious. "Birthday present. Whatever you want. One night only."

Harry jolted to attention at that. Whatever he was, Draco was not usually such generous in the bedroom. Often Harry had devised little ploys to drop the Slytherin into submission, and though both enjoyed them, Harry knew Draco would never admit to such a thing. His eyebrow rose curiously. "Are you serious, Malfoy?"

"Merlin, Potter," Draco said, attempting to be casual by admiring the nails on his long fingers. "I thought you'd be jumping at the chance to show me once and for all, as you call it."

Hands pushed Draco against the floor, harshly, but not without tenderness, for when he fell down, Harry was right there beside him. His hands quickly reached under and pulled the sweater of his head, and he brought his lips softly against the white trembling skin of his chest. Draco felt his chest suddendly aching terribly, as if every single one of Harry's feather-light kisses was like a hot knife entering his chest and yet and it was as though they were simultaneously healing the wound.

"You're beautiful, do you know that?" Harry said breathlessly, finally making his way up to Draco's face so that they were eye to eye. "And I hate to tell you, because you're full of yourself already as it is."

"Harry," Draco said, pulling his face down his own and brushing a latent kiss over his mouth, "please shut up, please."

"Oh, how the tables have turned," Harry said, manipulating Draco out of his pants and boxers as he spoke.

"Tell me you love me," Harry teased, a few moments later as Draco laid against the floor, his body pulsing in a static beat against the floor. When Draco didn't reply quickly enough, he teased his body again. It was a maddening game, and Harry didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

Draco moaned something incoherently and Harry rose above him so that his chest was against his back. Teasingly he grasped Draco and smiled as he gasped. "Don't be so tough, Draco," he said with a short, painful laugh, as his hands made their way about to cradle Draco's bottom. "Go on and say it."

"I bloody love you, Harry fucking Potter," Draco screamed out in a stream of consciousness. "I love you, all right? Now will you please--"

"Oh gods!" Before Draco could speak Harry had entered him and was moving sharply, as if to make up for lost time. He was saying something, but Harry hardly knew what it was anymore, it didn't matter, nothing mattered. Draco was there, surrounding him, warm and tight and it was almost a welcoming home to hear him moaning his name below him as their bodies' collided insistently.

"Harry--" Draco screamed brokenly, and it shattered into a hundred little pieces as his orgasm came and its remnants clung to his stomach and chest.

Above him Harry heard it, the tender, childish way that Draco always said his name before he came. It was beautiful, he thought, wrapping his arms about Draco's chest. He was suddendly overwhelmed with the feelings he had for the other man, and along with the desire to complete, it was almost too much to bear. It was a thick, heady haze of emotion between them as Harry thrusted once more and released, his body clinging to Draco's until every last bit of his orgasm left him. "Draco," he said softly, as he moved off him reluctantly, "I love you too."

"Oh, Potter," Draco said tiredly, "I doubt you'd be up my ass as often as you are if you didn't." Both stared at each other for a moment before breaking into a fit of laughter.

They lay together, side by side, not moving or speaking before the heaviness and satiety of sleep called to them. Harry waited until he was sure Draco was asleep and moved over to his side of the bed. Like always, he was curled into a small ball in near the edge of the bed, hogging up all the sheets. Wonderingly, Harry watched the rise and fall of his chest, the light movement of his eyelashes, the slight ajar way his mouth was open in sleep. Gently, he placed a kiss on the clean shaven jaw.

"Hmm," Draco said, smiling in his sleep. Harry moved to his corner of the bed, giving Draco the space he always craved. He hated to be crowded; Harry had learned that early on in their relationship. Though he wanted to pull Draco towards him, he began to dift off to sleep on the opposite side.

It was with mild shock that he was woken up by the feeling of two soft, warm hands pull him toward the other side of the bed and wrap themselves about his shoulders. Harry turned and looked at Draco. The light of early morning was refracting in his flaxen hair, giving him the air of an angel. A soft smile played on the red lips. "Come here, Harry," he said in a sweet droll.

Surprised, he moved his body towards Draco's, resting his head against his chest, as Draco wrapped his arms about his back. Idly, Draco played with a stand of Harry's hair, looking down at the surprised face with mild satisfaction. "You need to cut your hair, you know," he said, craning his head to kiss the neck next to his own. The taste of Harry's skin was like nothing else in the world.

All around Harry was the musky, almost sweet smell that followed Draco around like a mist of arousal. "I always need to cut my hair, Draco," he yawned, putting a hand to his mouth. "Gods, is that the sun rising?"

"Apparently, Potter," Draco said, unable to contain the urge to tease him. "Unless you can explain another yellow orb rising in the east."

"Draco Malfoy," Harry said, putting his chin on his chest so that he could look up at him. "Do you live to annoy me?"

"No," Draco said, forced into honesty by the brilliance of the green eyes staring into his own. "I live completely of my own accord, Potter. But annoying you does bring me immense joy."

"Oh, shit," Harry said, smiling nearly from ear to ear. "I think you might have actually said something semi- nice to me that wasn't in the throws of passion."

"Shut up," Draco replied with a laugh, "Only you would think that a compliment. Shh. Or I'll push you off me. Let's go to sleep, will you? I'm bloody tired after last night."

Without another word, Harry and Draco turned on their sides, and drifted off to sleep. And so with their limbs wrapped around each other's like two pieces of the same puzzle, they fit into each other, Harry's head on Draco's chest, Draco's leg fitting easily against Harry's waist. The sun rose to it's highest peak before the pair awoke, and in a fit early morning tenderness, Draco brought Harry's mouth to his own, and they exchanged a dozen lazy openmouthed kisses.

If the Death Eater, who had just perched on the roof of the small English cottage as if it where a Muggle toy, and could see beyond the slanted attic and clutter of that room down into the men's bedroom below it, at the precise moment he landed he would have been witness to the instant Harry Potter's mouth enclosed Draco Malfoy and the blond hope for the Dark Cause tightened his grip on the sheets surrounding him and screamed Harry Potter's name as he climaxed.


	4. Chapter 4

Hmm, by your reviews there's a lot of mixed feelings about the story. I don't know if I'll continue posting it then, maybe you can sway me. Also: it's kinda important to keep notes the date I'm writing about. I'll start adding in breaks where time-travel takes place. Review, please.

Chapter Three:

Across the table they sat from one another, more distant than anything imaginable, even though one came from the other. It was nights like this, as he watched the curved white line of her arm pour the drinks, that he admired her most of all. She was beautiful, poised, and arrogant. There was so little of her that could be shaken and yet he had hurt her terribly, enough so that the pale arm shook just a tiny bit as the last of the wine dropped into her glass.

"Mother," he whispered softly, though there was no one but the portraits of their anscestors to hear them. "I am sorry." It was a lie, and she knew it. Her hand, with it's red nails on the table gripped the linen in defiance.

She looked up at him and her eyes were unreadable, at an impasse. "We agreed never to speak of him at my table." She still had the linar sharp note of pride in her voice.

"I know," he whispered. "But, Mother, you're the only person I have left of my family," he looked at her pleadingly. "You are my mother, please don't turn away from me now. Please, at least look at me." His voice was slowly turning hysterical.

The soft, elegant head turned slowly. "Do you love him, Draco?" The question had no emotion fused into it. She may have been asking the weather report.

"Yes," was the low response. "I know what you're thinking: I'm a Malfoy, I'm a pureblood, I've been practically engaged to Pansy since birth, and he's a boy, and I'm gay and I'm not a Death Eater and never will be, and he's Harry Potter. I suppose the last is the biggest one of all." He gave a low bark as a sign of amusement. "Isn't it, Mother?"

Narcissa turned her head, again, and her expression was of faint amusement, her full lip twitched softly at his corners. "Almost twenty years we have known each other, Draco. And you have no idea at all what I am thinking." Her voice was almost flirty, teasing him into asking what.

Draco lowered his head and studied the pasta on his plate dilligently. It was nothing like he had expected, seeing his mother. He had expected a faded woman, a Narcissa Malfoy with a broken belle charm, like a Tennesee Williams herione. Instead his glamorous, otherwordly mother was smiling at him, in the face of her husband leaving her to join the war, in the face of her son fighting on the opposite side. In the face of her only child coming to her to tell her he loved another man.

They ate in silence, and finally at the end of the dinner, the candles were low and Narcissa rose from her seat. As a reflex, Draco rose also, and she crossed the table to touch in shoulder and he sat down suddendly.

Her hand gripped his shoulder tightly and there was a faint smell of alcohol mixed with her expensive potion-perfumes. The large diamond ring on her finger caught the light of the nearest dying candle and it sent a purple hue to the corner of the oak panneled wall nearby.

Draco watched the light as his mother spoke, and her voice was very steady. "I never loved your father," she whispered softly, and the ring's light shook a little. "You must not die in this war, Draco," she said firmly.

"I understand, Mother," he said softly. There was the fainest brush of her cool lips against the fringe of his hair.

"Good," she replied softly and the purple light faded altogether.

Draco left in the morning before Narcissa rose. It was the last conversation he ever had with his mother.

Hogwart's 1999

Professor Dumbledore's presence in the room had sufficently shocked most of the students, as he expected it would. It was not everyday that he paid a visit to the dungeon or to a Potion's class. But Juliette Weston's message had been clear, and he had come to collect the future heroes.

"Professor Snape, I'd like to see Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in my office after class, please, if you do not mind. And you might as well send Miss Granger and Mr. Weasely along with them."

Across the room Draco glared at the unfortunate Gryffindors. Though he shared the same eventual fate in Dumbledore's office, he made his was quickly up the stairs, leaving the others behind. Implusively, Ron stuck his tongue out at the retreating figure.

"Now that was adult," Hermoine said, unable to resist the urge to chastize.

"Look at the trouble the bloody ferret got us into," Ron replied. "Dumbledore's going to be furious. Right Harry?"

Harry was looking at the backside of the Slytherin with interest. "Harry?" Ron repeated, twice, before waving his hand across Harry's field of vision. "Helloo, Harry Potter!"

"Sorry mate," Harry said quickly. "What was it?"

"Nothing," Ron said, tiredly, they were now standing outside of Dumbledore's office. "We are just screwed, is all. Bloody screwed."

The door opened and Dumbledore appeared, and held it open for the group as they entered. Draco entered last, and as unfortunate fate would have it, the last seat was vacant next to Harry. As he sat down, Draco heard Harry take in a sharp breath, but he could hardly guess why. Dumbledore looked at them all pityingly. This was not going to be easy to explain.

"Today, a body was found in my office, students. It was a young auror, and she had been killed. What I soon realized was that she was from the future. She had used a device similiar to Miss Granger's time turner to return to Hogwart's. She brought with her a message, actually several messages. Here is the first."

No one spoke as Professor Dumbledore placed a small rectangular silver box on the desk. It was no different than a muggle jewlery box of a small size, though they jewels inlaid on it seemed real. Inside were several tiny scrolls of paper with nothing written on them. Professor Dumbledore opened the first and the hazy sound of three voices began, then became sharp.

_"Test, test," said the unrecognisable voice of Juliette Weston. "Hello, this is Jules Weston, here with Mr. Harry Potter on his twenty-first birthday," the loud blaring of music behind them almost drowned out the speakers before Hermoine shouted at Ron to lower it. "Do you have anything to say to prosterity, Mr. Potter?"_

_"No," Harry heard his own voice said, amused. "I don't give interviews, Weston. Only that and I plan to get utterly trashed this evening."_

_"Weston," it was Draco's drolling voice which came in next. "Will you put that blasted thing away now? How are we supposed to have fun with you hounding us for interviews every five seconds?"_

_"Oh all right!" Juliette Weston's voice said, exasperated and the clip ended._

"Professor, this is some sort of joke," Ron said, surprisingly the first to speak. "Someone tampered with some magic. It isn't true, it hasn't happened yet."

"Calm down, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said soothingly. "Believe me that I have studied this thoroughly and so have several other wizards. It is completely authentic, I assure you. And it _has_ happened, Mr. Weasley, you have heard it for yourself. Or it will happen, either way, it is real. Miss Granger, say what you're thinking."

"If it is real . . . won't us knowing about it change it somehow?" Hermoine said hesitantly.

"The long answer of course, is yes." Dumbledore looked at them seriously. "But you must also remember that the great events in are life are the minute ones. So immaterial that even when they are occuring we hardly notice their importance. You may have a slight feeling of deja-vu as the Muggles call it when this event does occur. But it will not be enough for you to alter it. Our minds seem to protect us that way."

"There are more scrolls," Draco said, suddendly joining the conversation. "What are on them?"

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses slowly. "Some of them are conversations between Death Eaters after Voldemort's fall. Others are simply of a private nature, and I don't believe it would do you any good to hear them. It seems Juliette was a spy, children. She was recording meetings."

"Why?" Harry asked softly. "If Voldemort is dead then why is she recording them? Why aren't they in Azkaban?"

"I do not know," Dumbledore said slowly. "I do not know. All I can gather from the tapes is the fact that you defeated Voldemort almost a year before they began. It seems some Death Eaters survived, formed a group and wanted some sort of vengance. I cannot say anything more. As I said, most of the tapes are of a private nature."

"But, Professor, why did she come here?" Hermoine said worriedly. "Why did she die, sir?"

"She came here to warn you, all of you, that your lives were in danger," Dumbledore said slowly. "She was tortured, I believe, and had told the Death Eater where you were hiding. So Miss Weston sent herself into the past as a warning, and also as a hope for you all. She knew of a way you could save your own lives."

"How?" Harry said, his face white.

"If you travel back into the future," Dumbledore said, "And you find a way to warn yourselves of the Death Eater attack."

"Us?" Ron said, his face red with nerves. "We have to go into the future? Professor, this isn't like the time that Harry and 'Moine went in third year, is it? We are going to have help, won't we? I mean, Death Eaters!"

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "No, Mr. Weasely, I'm afraid no wizard, no matter how much they may want to, can help you. This is a journey you must make alone. Powerful magic surrounds the safehouse were you are staying. Only a few priviliged people can enter and exit it. It must be you."

"If there are others, Professor," Hermoine began after the long pause ended. "Isn't there a way we could contact them, warn them about what we happen to us?"

Dumbledore smiled sorrowfully. "You are a clever witch, my dear, but there is no one to send the message to. The other members of your group have died, you see. Juliette Weston was the last of the group to lose her life."

Silence befell them as they sat in the room, trying to put together the horrors of what had occured so that it would make sense, seem real, and not just like some strange story Dumbledore had told them.

Harry put his head in his hands. Unlike the others, he could see the future and it seemed like an endless wasteland of war, fear, and exhaustion. For Voldemort was dead, and there was still fighting. And if they were threatened now, how many times before had their lives been in danger? If they saved themselves this time, when would they die? When would it end?

"Well," Draco said callously, breaking the ominous silence. "I don't care what you think. I'm not risking my life to save Harry Potter's."

"It's your's too, you mindless git, that's in danger," Ron said, turning to Harry. At the same moment, Draco turned to look at the Gryffindor. The ice in his gray-blue eyes frightened him slightly, and then a trickle of pained amusement came through. _That's what he'll be like when we fight in the war together_, he mused thoughtfully.

"The way I see it," Draco said sharply. "Is either we die now or die later. I rather prefer having another few years of life."

"There's a chance we might save ourselves," Harry said softly. The softness of his voice caught Draco off-key. "Think about it."

"Fine," Draco said, suddendly implusive. "Let's go kill ourselves either way!"


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, just to clear up a few things: I won't be so careless with grammar and time now since I'm doing this story seriously. I know the story is a tiny bit hard to follow stylistically, but that's because I'm hoping to write something a little different than everything that I've seen. Since I've been asked, the years of the story shift between 2007 (when Weston is in the cave and killed) and 1999/2000 (where the students leave to go to the future) short passages about Draco and Harry's relationship will be in the years 2005/2006, except for the one short passage by Hermione which takes place in 2000. The places it takes place are as followed: Draco and Harry in 2007 live in a small house in Muggle London, as does Hermione and her family. Weston, the auror of the prologue travels on missions from New York City to London to France, where we meet her at her death. I'll be putting dates and locations at every switch so that you can follow along. Ok, I'll stop blabbing for now, and onto the story.

A Cafe in England, December, 2005

Draco Malfoy, recent graduate of auror training, pushed through the Christmas crowds which were gathering all about the Muggle street. He passed through a deserted side way and reappeared, walking down Diagon Alley. Impatiently, he checked his watch as he walked, he was running late. Draco had his hood pulled over his head, but not because he was cold, in fact it was a mild winter. There was another reason.  
"Papers here!" shouted a little wizard, standing on a stool. "Read all about it! Draco Malfoy back in town! Harry Potter's Ex: A friend tells all!"

Crowds had gathered all about the little urchin, and Draco couldn't help but smile to himself. All lies, and what wasn't a lie was printed by mistake. At least in Paris, no one cared who he was, whom he had dated. They were interested in what he had to say, as one of the best potions masters in the world. But now, back in London, he was confronted with the fact that he, like Harry Potter, was an enormous celebrity.

Funny that the only person who could understand was the same person he was avoiding.

Draco pushed into cafe through the crowd and removed his hood. As if on a cue, everyone turned to stare at him. Great.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," said one of the waiters, too overly excited and deferring. "Mrs. Finnegan is waiting in the VIP room for you."

"Thank you," Draco threw over his shoulder carelessly, and walked to the back. Sitting on a chair, smiling sweetly was Hermione.

She stood, and a significant bulge about her stomach appeared. Without waiting for his reaction, she reached over and kissed him across the table. "Draco," she said softly. "I missed you so much. It was too cruel of you to stay away for so long."

"Seems you were busy enough, Mrs. Finnegan." Draco smirked.

"Godsdamn Seamus," she said, smiling to take the venom away from the words. "Twins and they're a week late already. If I don't have these babies before the New Year I'm going to put a spell on him the likes of which no one has ever seen. I can barely get into my desk at school. I know the students are laughing at me."

"Oh, Mione," Draco laughed. "I doubt they'd have the nerve. You're the strictest teacher in Hogwarts since Snape."

Hermione rolled her eyes tiredly. "Enough about me. Tell me all about Paris, and the conventions. "She reached her hands across the table and took Draco's in her own." How've you been?"

Hermione didn't need to ask that question. She could see the weight the too-thin man had lost, leaving him positively ghostly. His usually lively gray eyes were mainly blue and listless, but the beauty was still there, the wizard's aristocratic beauty. But now he looked as though it was another burden he had to carry. Hermione's chest was heavy with sympathy.

"Grand, grand," Draco said, taking out a cigarette. "Oh, Granger, don't you believe me?"

"Shit, Draco," Hermione sighed. "I don't. You and Harry-- no, don't interrupt me. Listen for once. I never saw two people who were so meant to be together. You two, you're everything to each other. Harry's dying without you, Draco. And I know you feel the same way. Please, talk to him."

A dim fire, a slow pain appeared in Draco's eyes, bringing in some of the old liveliness. "He betrayed me, Hermione!" Draco hissed, in a sore voice. "He saw one thing and assumed the worst. Harry fucking Potter can do whatever he wants, and truly I don't care anymore. I can't live my godsdamn life worrying about the papers, about the whole Auror community thinking Draco Malfoy's cracked because he left Harry Potter."

"He's sorry, Draco," Hermione said slowly. "But you have to admit it looked bad."

Draco stood up. "He should have trusted me, Hermione. That's what it comes down to. He saw Malfoy and he forgot all about us. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'll come by and see you and Seamus sometime."

"Draco," Hermione called, before he left. But the door closed and Hermione sat alone, her head in her hands.

Harry had gotten used to a few things in the past six months. He had gotten used to making his own coffee, though it tasted like mud, he would drink it down compulsively. Draco had been the one to buy the cappuccino machine which now sat dusty, in their London flat. Now, Harry's London flat. But still, Harry hadn't gotten used to many things.

He would come home from the Ministry, and open his mouth to call Draco's name, to tell him about his day. Harry would turn over in bed and be shocked to find a cold, empty spot where Draco usually slept, curled into a beautiful, bony white ball. But worst of all was the vacant spot in the living room where Draco's baby grand had stood. There was no more music, no more inky compositions composed in the midst of passion, no laughter and playing. There was no Draco.

Harry had faced it, within the first week of Draco being gone. He wasn't just in love with the man that was true enough. He needed him. There was nobody in the world that made him feel instantly secure, safe and at home. The first home he'd ever known had been with Draco, and though he'd left nearly everything behind in their relationship, Harry realized the home wasn't the fancy flat. It was Draco.

He stood on the balcony and looked out to the horizon. Draco was back in town, and for a moment Harry let himself fantasize-- Draco was there, the dust of their belongings was gone, he was laughing again, there was music and rhetoric and witty, absurd conversations held in place by Draco's chain smoking. And at night there was the endless expanse of Draco's white skin, the distinct smell of his body, and the feel of his mouth, red, beautiful, alive.

But like ashes dissipating, when Harry opened his eyes there was only the noisy street below and no one else.

Hermione Granger-Finnegan and her husband Seamus were having a brilliant Christmas party at their home in Belgravia. High ranking members of the Ministry, socialites, former Hogwarts students, and others were crowded into the beautifully red and green apartments. One of the last guests to arrive was Harry Potter.

"Harry fucking Potter," Seamus said genially, slapping Harry's back a little too harshly. "Its genius that you've come. I can't get Hermione away from the Ministry for one moment, they're begging on hand and foot for her to work there. And the rest of the time Ron Weasley's making cow-eyes at my wife."

Harry tensed. Was that still going on? Three years before, for what was the briefest moment in history, Ron and Hermione had been engaged. Hermione had forgotten it all, perhaps, by now, but it seemed Ron hadn't.

"Sss no problem of mine," Seamus shrugged drunkenly. "I like the chap good enough. Draco's been a real angel, keeping us apart. Won't want any scenes on Christmas, eh?"

"Guess not." Harry said shortly. So Draco was here. Of course he would be Hermione loved him to death. It seemed so long ago that he had called her mudblood . . .

A sweeping staircase was covered in fir and at the top sat a little girl with curling yellow hair, looking down at the grownups below. "Hallo Uncle Harry," Sarah Finnegan said boldly.

"Sarah Marie Finnegan," Hermione said, sweeping out of nowhere. "Didn't I tuck you in?"

"I don't wanna sleep," Sarah stamped her foot, looking too absurdly like Hermione. "I wanna to see the party! I'm not too little, Mama!"

"Oh, Sarah," Hermione said, looking furious. "I'm going to put you to bed!"

"No!" Sarah wailed, protesting against her mother's hand. "I wanna see the party!" Her bright green eyes searched out the guests, and amused, Harry watched them settle. As if the room parted, Harry saw Draco, dressed in black, talking animatedly to Dean Thomas.

"Uncle Draco!" Sarah squealed, managing to escape Hermione and run into the blond man's arms. "Oh, Uncle Draco, you were away for so long."

"Aye, that I was, pretty miss," Draco said teasingly, "Did you miss me?"

"Yes," Sarah said accusingly. "Mama wants to send me to bed."

"Ugh," Draco said, "Beds are disgusting things. When there's so much fun to be had in Storytown."

"Will you tell me a story, Uncle Draco?" Sarah squealed.

"No, he will not," Hermione stamped her foot. "Sarah, stop trying to wheedle your godfather. Draco, she ought to be in bed."

But Draco's heart had already been won over. "One story," he said, smiling charmingly at Hermione. A smile that pierced Harry's heart. "Come along, Princess Mona Lisa; let's slay some dragons with our golden swords."

The crowd reappeared, chatting all around him, but Harry followed behind Draco and Sarah as they made their way to Sarah's bedroom. Harry sat down outside the open door and listened to the story Draco spun, a sweet children's story; full of royalty, pastries, vanquished enemies and true love. Stories that any father, wizard or Muggle, would tell their little daughter. But Draco would never be anyone's father, no matter how brilliantly he might have done it.

"I love you, Uncle Draco," Sarah's little voice said tiredly.

"Love you too, Sarah."

How easy it was for Sarah Finnegan, all of three years old, to tell Draco Malfoy she loved him. And how much Harry Potter, watching the retreating shadow of Draco going down the stairs; wanted to do the same.

Ron Weasley was very drunk halfway through the party. He tottered sadly throughout Hermione's house, looking at the things she had with Seamus. Remembering the day she came to him, while they were still engaged and telling him she was pregnant with Seamus's baby.

"Harry," Ron protested to the arm taking him outside. "Lemme go."

"You won't embarrass yourself tonight, Ron," Harry said with a frown. "Pull yourself together, mate."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle," Ron said, slurring his words. "When all you've been doing all night is thinking about fucking Draco Malfoy. He looks like a male supermodel, doesn't he?" Ron teased mercilessly. "A fucking good looking god."

"You're not yourself," Harry said, backing away from Ron and the pinpointed emotions Ron had spurted. The night was fast becoming a disaster.

Harry stopped in place. There, it was. The monotone sound coming from Hermione's piano. Draco was playing something. And it was the Birthday Composition, a present a wizard had composed for his lover, who died at sea. It was terribly painful to listen to, and yet there was a little crowd surrounding Draco at the piano. Watching him play as if entranced.

The composition began plainly. Stark, plain, single melody music, almost medieval and boring. And then in began a swirling of emotion in tune, high and lows, quickened and slowed as if spinning in a circle too quickly, or riding on a rollercoaster. Or falling in love. Harry wanted to cover his ears and scream, bang, anything to cover the brilliancy of Draco's music. He was playing maddeningly, insultingly. He was playing to wound him as badly as he was wounded.

Then the applause and it was over. Harry stayed outside, unwilling to come in. It was too cold and yet he stayed, freezing. Anything but not to go inside and face Malfoy. Anything.

He heard the sound of a match and a cigarette was lit. "You are avoiding me, Potter." Drolling.

Harry was about to protest, but then he shrugged. "You would think that."

"I would because it's true, Harry," Draco said. Harry's back was still turned to him. "It's been six months; you can at least pretend to be over me."

"You are such a--" Harry turned around and fell silent. Draco was standing there, like a fucking golden god, like Ron had said. He was beautiful, shimmering like an avenging auror, the black clothes and cloak highlighting the white.

Draco watched his amused face. "A what?" He asked. "A Death Eater?"

"I never thought that," Harry said, protesting. "You were studying the Dark Arts, Draco. Behind my back. For years."

Draco took a pull on his cigarette. "I did what I needed to do, Harry. They are still after us, they're after Hermione and Seamus and Ron and their little kids. And who else? Severus, Remus, who else would be after us?"

"You couldn't beat them at their own game, Draco! It was madness."

"Madness would be not knowing what they would pull. There will be a reckoning, Harry. I want to know everything. I'm not going in there with my eyes closed."

"So now you're eyes are open, are they?" Harry turned away, shivering.

Draco looked at him. Hermione was right, he wasn't well. His face was dark, troubled. His green eyes had lost their luster, and he was abominably thin, all the tiny bones in his face were threatening to come out. But he still wore those ridiculous glasses and his hair was still everywhere. Covering his scar. Draco watched him shaking, too proud to go inside and admit coldness and defeat.

As if on an impulse, Draco opened his cloak. "Come here, you mad fool," he said, pulling Harry into his arms, and tucking his cloak around him. Harry shivered against him, his arms stiff at his sides. But he had tucked his cheek onto Draco's shoulder and he was leaning against him.

"Harry," Draco said hesitantly. Harry wrapped his arms about him and was hugging him tightly.

"When this is all over I'm going to marry you," Harry whispered against Draco's neck, causing little ripples in his skin. "I want to wake up every morning and see you. I don't want to fight anymore," Harry moaned. "I don't care. I wouldn't even care if you had the Dark Mark. I can't. It's horrid, everything without you."  
"You know I don't have the Mark," Draco said, touched. "You know that."

"You didn't say yes," Harry said, abstractedly.

Draco laughed. "You didn't ask me a question."

"I did," Harry insisted. "I asked you to marry me."

"You never did any such thing," Draco shot back.

"Fine," Harry said, exasperated. Draco always had to win every single fight. But Harry didn't care anymore. "Draco Malfoy, marry me, please?"

"I don't know," Draco said archly. "I'll have to think about it. Ow! You bit my neck, you little Gryffindor bastard."

"You. Didn't. Answer. Me." He said, breaking up each word into a group of little kisses he applied to Draco's cold red mouth.

"Yes." He said seriously.

It was a strange thing, the way the cold night air, the snowflakes and the tears mixed together in a salty, impenetrable cloud as they kissed. Nothing else seemed to matter as they stood there, bodies and mouths clinging together as if it was the most natural thing in the world. When they stopped for breath Draco noticed the snowflakes had formed white line across Harry's eyelashes and he kissed them away before their mouths met again, a tangle of tightened limbs, meeting tongues and matched souls.

Looking outside her kitchen window, Hermione Finnegan watched Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy kiss. The kiss was mildly shocking to watch, Hermione felt, though she could not put what she felt into words. It was as if the kiss was threatening to constantly become more, as if each was trying to consume the other, break the other into pieces and claim him for his own. It was a devouring, fierce sort of love that Hermione watched between them, nothing like the mild infatuation she had once felt for Seamus.

Hermione let the curtain close and patted her stomach thoughtfully. She had just seen true love for the first time.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five:

**Fifth Avenue, New York City, 2007**

Weston took in a breath. She had followed Malfoy for eight blocks before he had disappeared into the nondescript building. Before he had said his name as a password in that drawling voice she had once thought was charmingly upper class. Now she was waiting, following him, hoping for anything that would confirm what she was thinking. He was going to pay, one way or the other.

Weston made her way into the building, in Muggle clothing, she looked like anyone else walking into a business, dressed in a pinstripe suit. Dumbledore had arraigned for her to have the office next door to the meeting hall. The hall where the Death Eaters were holding a meeting.

Once inside the small room she opened her suitcase and pulled out her wand and the glass horn. "Audio," she whispered, tapping the horn and placing it against the wall.

Opening a scroll, Weston wound it along the horn and waited. And waited. It was an hour and a half before the meeting ended. After it was over Weston put the scrolls into their small box and back into the suitcase. She walked out into the street, feeling uncomfortable in the Muggle high heels she was wearing. She took a bus back to her hotel room; she made sure not to look conspicuous.

Finally, in her hotel room she opened the tiny scroll and listened to the recordings. Halfway through her hands were clenched and the knuckles white. I got you, you bastard, she thought to herself. You'll pay.

She listened on, trying to find out why. Why was Malfoy doing this? What was it, some vendetta, some old hatred for the aurors? What was it? Then, like a proverbial bolt of lighting, it hit Weston so hard she nearly fell over.

Weston realized he was doing out of love. Twisted, malicious love. Love turned inward so that it became hate.

**Hogwarts, 1999**

Dumbledore looked at the shocked young faces about him. "You realize, children," he said worriedly. "That there is no time to waste. If you are all agreed, I will send you off now."

"Now?" Ron repeated his face redder. "Right now?"

"Are you deaf or stupid, Weasel?" Draco asked, bored. "Now. We are leaving now." He drew the words out between his lips as if he was talking to a very small child.

"You damn git," Ron said, turning to face Draco with fists raised.

"Good," Draco said, faking a yawn. "Now that you're not nervous anymore, can we please leave?"

Harry covered a laugh with a cough. Draco might be a spoiled git, but he was damned funny.

"You guys," Hermione said, looking wearily at Professor Dumbledore. "I think we should be prepared to handle whatever we should encounter in the future. Professor Dumbledore, is there anything else we should know?"

"No, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said, "I think you are already prepared well enough. I promise all of you that I am not sending into any danger. In fact, I am sending you to a very nice London home." Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Nothing bad will happen to any of you if you are careful."

"Well, then," Harry said tiredly. "Let's go, er--Professor--."

Professor Dumbledore inclined his head. "Hold each other's hands, now."

All four gave Professor Dumbledore a look that said: do we have to?

"It's imperative that you do. Or else you all may be separated. The force of the spell is very strong and it is also very complicated. Now, form a circle over here."

The floor was separated into a circle that no one had ever seen in before. The floor seemed as if it was illuminated from underneath and above, forming circles of light that surrounded the group as they stood in its center. Dumbledore was speaking, but they could no longer hear his words, they became fainter and fainter as the lights spread and form a tubular, spinning vortex of brightness and color. It was so bright that they were forced to close their eyes and look away, it was becoming so powerful that they almost wanted to break the chain to shield their faces from its heat.

Then, there was nothing. Darkness. Then light. And a singular noise. The sound of an alarm clock, going off in the distance.

**Notting Hill, End of December, 2007**

Harry Potter, in his twenties, turned over in bed and grumbled, pulling the sheet over his head. Yet the alarm clock insisted on buzzing again, and again.

"Harry," Draco mumbled, moving to his side of the bed. "Turn the fucking alarm clock off."

Draco was rewarded with a groan. "I don't know why the thing's going off," Harry said irritably, slamming it onto the ground with zest. "I didn't set it for vacation. Merlin, those Muggle inventions are useless."

"What would Weasley's father say if he heard you now?" Draco laughed, moving to Harry's side of the bed and wrapping his arms about his back. His teeth slowly, carefully, grazed the skin of Harry's back, causing an immediate reaction. Harry tensed, waited, as Draco moved closer, and he felt the blond's head rest against his shoulder.

"He'd say something like at least they try," Harry mimicked Mr. Weasley's voice very well. "Draco . . ."

Draco had turned him over and was hovering above him. In the morning light he looked amazing. He hadn't bothered to do anything to his hair yet, so it stood up in little flaxen tufts about the corner of his head. His eyes were a cloudy gray, still a little bit dreamy from sleep. Draco brushed Harry's hair away from his forehead and kissed him there with a consuming tenderness. With that little touch, Harry felt his body tense more. Draco was hardly ever gentle, and he craved it.

"You look like sunlight," Harry said absentmindedly after they shared an early morning kiss.

"And you," Draco said, his hands moving slowly across the exterior edge of Harry's torso. "Feel absolutely divine." His mouth was at Harry's neck, teasing, tasting. It was maddening, the sharpness of his teeth, the careless ease with which he reached down between Harry's leg and stroked his inner thigh. Shift as he might, Draco wouldn't touch his need, and it was making his head spin.

"Draco," Harry mumbled, feeling weak.

"Hmm?" He responded, moving his head away from Harry neck.

Harry took in a sharp breath. "Are you going to tease me all morning?"

Draco's eyes had awoken, and they were mischievous. Harry bit down the urge to laugh, he knew Draco was in a good mood, and when he was, there wouldn't be any pretense, no joking about, it would be frantic, amazing lovemaking.

"Turn over Potter," Draco said lazily. "So I can see what I'm working with here."

"I don't want to be--" But his words were cut off, and so was the intention behind them. Rolling his eyes he turned over.

Draco traced a line from Harry's neck, slowly carefully down to his legs, tickling the soles of his feet. Then he began again, from his feet, stopping when he reached the crevice of his behind. Slowly, maddeningly, Draco traced the contours of his bottom, until Harry began to moan softly. He was throbbing as well, urging, but Draco had always been in more control. He could wait a little longer, Draco mused. I'm going to have a bit of fun with him first.

Spreading him apart, Draco took a moment and breathed out a long breath of hot air over Harry's entry. Slowly, sweetly, he kissed his lower back, open-mouthed, his tongue drawing hazy lines before he went forward and held his waist tightly. "Draco!" Harry gasped softly, but it broken down into incoherencies as Draco prodded him with his tongue, he was as maddeningly devious as ever. When Draco moved his mouth away, Harry was pliant, ready to do anything to relieve the manic tension building between them.

Draco moved in slowly, taking his time, enjoying the feeling of having Harry Potter all around him at once, enveloping him. It was too easy to take him like this; Draco mused, and change him from the serious, determined auror, to a crying, moaning man who needed him. And yet they both knew Draco was the only one who could do this, no matter what. Make him feel both loved and desired and desiring.

Just when Draco had settled himself, he moved out again and Harry cried out his name. Then, pleased, Draco moved right past tenderness and ease and thrusted, quickly to find his spot and the sharpened scream Harry gave was followed almost instantaneously with his orgasm's flow. Draco moved again, sharply, faster now, finding his niche, warm and tight, within the other man's body. There it was, Draco thought, the feeling of everything and nothing all at once, the filling of a void.

"Harry," Draco groaned out, as he released, a steady stream of warmth entered Harry's body and he moaned softly again Draco's name. For a moment Draco breathed out, a long hot breath on the back of Harry's neck, before he moved off him and settled on his side.

They said nothing for long moments, simply settling in each others arms, waiting for the strength to move and do something, though they hardly knew what could compare favorably to the mysterious bliss of being wrapped in each other, tired, sticky and sated. Harry let out a long sigh, followed by a kiss on Draco's closed mouth.

"Look at your neck, Potter, it's all marked up," Draco said, satisfied, turning Harry's neck to the side. "Horrid looking."

"Proud of your handiwork, Malfoy?" Harry asked, smiling a wide grin. "What are we going to do with you?"

"Nothing," Draco smirked. "I'm incorrigible. Kiss me."

Harry agreed to the condition and his mouth met Draco's easily, knowing the familiar contours, the softness of his tongue, the way he would incline his head. The silly, intimate little things he always noticed about his lover, the way his eyes closed slowly in a kiss, the way he might let out a little sigh in the midst of one, and Harry could feel the reverberations on his own throat.

"I love you, Draco." Harry said contentedly. "I think I'm madly in love with you."

"Yes," Draco said, stroking the head on his chest. "I love you, too." He rushed through it, still uncomfortable with the words.

"I'm hungry," Draco yawned, shifting in the bed.

"You're always hungry," Harry frowned, finding his boxers and throwing Draco his. "I'm surprised you're not fat."

"You keep the weight off, lover," Draco winked dramatically, a little wag in his step as he walked to the kitchen. "All that extra exercise."

Harry sat down at the stool on the kitchen table. "What've we got?" He asked, knowing the answer would be nothing.

"Muffins!" Draco sang out, finding a Tupperware in the back of the fridge. "Oh, Merlin bless Hermoine, she brought them by Thursday. Here, Potter, put them in the heater while I conjure the cappuccinos."

Draco started up the machine when he noticed the strange look in Harry's face. Tense. He turned it off. "What is it, Potter?"

"Someone's in here, Malfoy," Harry said slowly. "I know it."

Draco winced. Every since the fall of Voldemort, Harry had been a little . . . paranoid. He had the house thoroughly swept for wizarding bugs, twice a month, and though nothing was ever found, Harry was convinced they were still in some sort of danger. The nightmares, too, only added to Draco's worry.

Harry took out the muffins and put them on a plate, then sat down, dropping his head onto the table. "You think I'm going mad, don't you? Malfoy, don't answer that," he said smiling, though there was pain in his eyes.

Draco knelt down next to him. "I don't think you're going mad, Harry," he said, as soothingly as possible. "I don't get engaged to men who are mad, I don't live with men who are mad, and I definitely do not fuck madmen. Listen to me," he said, moving Harry's hands. "You've been under a lot of stress. We've both been under a shitload of stress. That's all it is."

"I just feel like something terrible's going to happen, is all. I know how mad I must sound, but that's how I feel, Malfoy." Harry shook his head and gave a half-smile. "Maybe I can't accept the good after all that bad."

"Maybe," Draco conceded. "Or maybe you're just wild with hunger and hallucinating. Here," he put a muffin in Harry's hand. "Eat a blueberry one."

"Malfoy," Harry said between bites, "How do you put up with me?"

"Ah, babe," he smirked. "It's a labor of love." Draco patted Harry's hand. "Come on now, we have to get ready. Fred's having us meet that Muggle girl who's supposedly stolen his heart."

"I don't know how a Muggle or a girl could steal anyone's heart," Harry sniffed, and then laughed. "That was positively Draconian of me." Harry stood up and ruffled his hair. "You're rubbing off on me."

Draco jumped up from behind and onto Harry's back. "That's good," he laughed, "Since I'm going to marry you," he nuzzled Harry's neck until the other man burst out laughing as well.

"I'm not going to turn into your reflection, Malfoy, so give up. Damn! Draco, stop biting my neck, it's already got enough marks on it." Draco climbed off him and pushed him against the wall. He was pinioned easily between the wall and the man and he couldn't help but nibble along Draco's pronounced jaw.

"Silly, beautiful Harry Potter," he responded, kissing his mouth. It was a sweet, insinuating little kiss and Harry melted into it. "Your breath tastes like muffins," Draco said, pecking his cheek and then started walking quickly towards the hall. "I call shower first."

"Bastard." Harry said, sitting down at the kitchen table and taking out the News.

It was another hour before Draco and Harry left the apartment. Draco was horrifically slow to get dressed; he tried half a dozen things before he decided on tight black trousers, a white turtleneck sweater and a dusty gray peacoat. Harry bit down the urge to protest since he looked so damned good. Draco of course, did not mention the fact that Harry was once again wearing what he called his uniform: a button down long sleeved shirt and a pair of faded jeans with a boring jacket over it. Perhaps he only kept his mouth shut because Draco admired the way the green shirt brought out the color in his eyes.

"We ready for Muggle transportation?" Draco groaned. "I hate taking those bloody smelly cars anywhere. Why couldn't Fred have fallen for a nice witch at the Ministry?"

"Stop whining," Harry said, taking Draco's hand. "You look peevish when you whine."

"I do not ever look peevish," he responded, and the door closed to the house.

From their corner in the apartment, hidden behind a large screen, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco came out and looked about the apartment with white faces.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, to clear up one point:

Did I ever say that Draco kills Weston? Or that he's the one that was in NYC? No, I said Malfoy. We never actually know the first name of the person in the two situations. But you will very soon, I promise.

**Hogwarts, Fall 2000**

Hermione Granger was used to being two places at once. She had been traveling between classes again, near the end of her time at Hogwarts, to make sure she completed all the classes she wanted to study. Though it was a struggle, she had managed to do well and keep the secret Dumbledore had entrusted to her. Often, though, it was hard to find a place to take out the small hourglass and disappear, though lately she had taken to sneaking into a dark closet in the main hall and quickly going back in time.

It was her third time using her supposed secret hiding place when she heard the sounds. Scratching sounds, and an animal cry. Nervous, though she had faced much more during her years at Hogwarts, she took out her wand instinctively.

"Do you give up?" It was a low, drawling voice. Draco Malfoy's. Hermione saw red. What was the git doing know? Who was he bothering?

"Come on, Draco," A low, hoarse voice. A familiar one. "I want you, you know I do."

"When it's convenient for you, right?" Malfoy voice sounded hurt, annoyed. Hermione almost had the urge to leave. She felt as though she was intruding on something that was raw and private. Still, she felt glued to the spot.

"It isn't like that, and you know it. We'd be risking a lot, both of us. I don't want you to get hurt. It'd be worse for you."

"And your friends?" Draco's voice was insistent. "What about them?"

"If you want me to tell them, I'll tell them, Malfoy. All right? Now, let's continue," there was a mumbling sound, and the scratching began again.

Both Hermione's parents were dentists, and often received little trinkets from insurance companies. Her father had given her one of them; a little keychain with a light attached, and she had taken it, never minding the fact that her wand produced its own light. It was a nice gesture and she hadn't wanted to seem ungrateful. But now the pale little light seemed useful.

She turned it on and nearly screamed before her other hand clasped itself against her mouth and she backed away out of the room. What she saw was unbelievable, and she ran down the hall, forgetting all about the Potions class she would miss. Hermione went to the sink and turned the tap on, splashing cool water against her face compulsively, as if the shock of the water would erase the vision.

Of course it wouldn't. Hermione had seen, Draco, kneeling on the stone floor, his mouth against Harry's waist, his head moving as Harry jerked. Draco had put Harry's -- she couldn't even put it into words in her own mind-- in his mouth. She shivered against the vision, yet it came back to her. The way Harry ran his finger's through Draco's hair, the way Harry looked content, at peace for once.

Years later, even after Draco and Harry had brought a house together in Muggle London and a cottage in Hogsmeade, Hermione kept her small secret to herself. She felt, it, like the time-turner, was a privileged knowledge.

**London, 2007**

None of them said anything about the apartment. About what they had seen. When they had first entered they had followed the sounds of moaning, worried that someone was in pain. And they saw. They saw everything. Then they saw the breakfast scene when they went to hide in the adjoining living room. There was no room for doubt about any of it.

"Harry and Draco?" Ron finally said, in a high pitched voice. "Harry and Draco?"

"Ron," Hermione hissed, but Harry looked at Draco curiously. Whatever animosity he felt know would be translated into the love of his life. He watched Draco's stony eyes lighten, and he gave the shadow of a smile.

Harry found himself smiling back. There was a glimpse of the future. Ron coughed loudly breaking up the moment.

"Right." Harry said, looking sheepish. "So Dumbledore sent us here for a reason. Why?"

"There must be something here we need to find," Draco said. "Other than what we saw. Something important, maybe."

Hermione nodded. "Malfoy's right. Let's start with the downstairs."

They went downstairs. There was a large living room, with Louis XVI furniture which had been spray painted gold and reupholstered with a red velvet design. A coffee table in the middle of the room looked like a giant chest and was covered with magazines and books, _Pride,_ the gay wizard's magazine,_ Potions to Heal and Help_ by Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape were on the table, alongside old newspapers and two clear blue glasses.

Hermione gestured to the a paper. "It's a map, a wizard's map." She held it out; it was glowing faintly in one area. Gently, she tapped it with her wand.

"Hello, Hermione Granger," the map said impersonally. "You are currently in the home of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. You are currently in sector 4A, sector 4A is defined by the Ministry as being populated by both Muggle and wizarding races. Wizards in 4A are prohibited from using all spells categorized as "unnecessary." They include . . ."

"All right!" Harry said irritably and the map turned itself off with a faint huff.

"Hallo," said Draco, amused, "What is that?"

Against the wall was a huge hanging collage, with hundreds of different Muggle pictures, all of Draco and Harry. Yet, when the person looked closely, the pictures were almost translucent; the wall could be seen behind it.

"What is that?" Ron said, looking at the pictures. "It's weird."

"Ron's right," Hermione said. "It is a little weird. I mean, it covers the entire wall, nearly."

"It's hiding something." Draco responded, getting up from the coffee table where he had been reading his own book with interest. "In big Manor houses wizards would often cut a wall away and induce a spell to hide things they didn't want found. It was probably my idea."

Draco climbed onto the sofa and tapped the collage with his wand. Instantly it slid to the side, revealing a compartment. And inside the compartment was a medium sized box, with a lock attached. Only the lock had no key hole. Draco settled it on the sofa and looked at the box miserably.

"It's passworded." He said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean," Draco continued. "It's a vocal password. We made up some password for it. That's what undoes the lock. They're probably two: one for me and one for you. Have any idea?"

"No," Harry said, staring at it. "None at all."

"What should we do then?" Draco said, becoming annoyed. Then he saw the box of treats on the counter. "Ahh! Chocolate Frogs!"

"Hello, Draco Malfoy," the box said in a mechanic voice as it sprung open. Inside there were papers, scrolls. Stacks and stacks of yellowed scrolls with nothing written on them, like the ones Dumbledore had shown them, but larger. Curiously, Draco opened the first one.

A rush of light appeared and then a picture of himself, slightly aged, came into view. "Is it on, do you think?" He asked someone.  
"Yeah," Harry said, coming into focus over his shoulder. "I suppose we should start then. Hallo, everyone. This is the Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter and Draco Malfoy. Um, I suppose we'll get started then."

"Well," Harry said uncomfortably, "If I die, then I well, everything I own goes to Draco, of course." Draco appeared over Harry's shoulder again. "And vice versa, you know." He added, before Harry pushed him away with a laugh.

"And if we both-- um, die," Harry said, "We leave the flat in Belgravia to Hermione--" Draco felt a hand close the scroll. Harry was standing behind him, looking a little ashen.

"I don't think we should see that one, Draco," he whispered. "It's not right."

"I don't want to see it either," he nodded, tying the scroll back up and pushing it under a bunch of others.

"Hey, maybe it's this one," Ron said, picking up one labeled: Private.

Before either boy could say no, Ron had opened the scroll.

Music, punkish and rocky, came into hearing before Draco's face. He was wearing heavy blue eyeliner and his hair was spiked and dyed completely white. His lips were outlined in red and he looked amazingly beautiful, otherworldly. The music started up and Draco started singing, and rather badly.

Harry's head came into view, and then his arm, holding a bottle, and the scroll panned out. It was Harry and Ron's bedroom at Hogwarts, and Harry was completely changed. His dark hair was streaked with a bright electric blue and his glasses were gone, and his eyes were lined too, with black stars drawn on the corners. He was laughing into the camera, and he kissed Draco's cheek, laughing.

"When the roommate's away," Draco whispered to the scroll, "Well, you can guess the rest, can't you?" Harry was laughing drunkenly and he put an arm about Draco's shoulder. "We should shag on Ron's bed," Draco said maliciously, "For all his rumor spreading about us."

"Draco don't," Harry laughed as Draco took the bottle of booze and started jumping on Ron's bed, the liquor spilling everywhere. "Fuck, we're going to get into so much trouble."

Harry jumped onto the bed and took Draco's arm and they began to dance silly, ridiculously on Ron's bed, an inebriated ballroom dance. Suddenly Harry pulled up Draco's expensive shirt and began kissing his chest, tasting his nipples and the two of them fell into a passionate, drunken heap onto the bed, tugging each other's clothes off crazily and quickly.

Ron closed the scroll, his face red. "Merlin!" He said, turning furiously to look at Draco and Harry, who were both white.

Hermione had gone through several scrolls in the meantime, all of which were similar to the one Ron, Harry and Draco had watched. It seemed Harry and Draco were fond of scrolling their-- escapades. The scrolls were simply hidden because of that reason. At the bottom of the scrolls were several wizard pictures.

One was of Harry and Draco, holding champagne glasses and wearing suits under dress robes. They moved in and kissed each other chastely before an unknown face mouthed: "Happy Birthday Draco!" And they all laughed. Another was of Hermione and Draco, standing outside in a pretty park, Draco's arm about Hermione's waist and they were beaming. And the last was of Harry's parents.

A picture he had never seen before. They were standing on the steps of a church somewhere. Lily was holding a small white bundle which was shaped like a baby, undoubtedly Harry, and James was smiling down at Harry and laughing, before they both smiled clearly to the photographer. Curiously, Harry turned over the picture; there was a paper, like a post-it note attached.

_What to get the Boy Who Lived? I looked everywhere and found this_, was written on the note. _Happy 20th Birthday Harry. I looked nowhere and I found you. I love you_, _D.M._

Harry held the picture, watching the movement of his parents, turning it over to read the note. Then he heard the noise. A banging on the roof. And talking. Harry, Ron, Draco and Hermione froze in place.

"Someone's coming," Draco said, standing by the door. "Bollocks! Take that box with you!" He whispered harshly to Ron, who gathered up the scrolls and the box and hid behind the large Chinese screen in the corner of the room. Huddled together, they watched as three Death Eaters destroyed the front door.

"Are they here?" One of the hooded figures said to another.

"No," a drawling voice said. "Of course not. Clear the apartment. Find out where they are. Now!"

The two minions teared the apartment nearly to bits, knocking down artistic chairs, paintings, photographs and all the other little knick-knacks and personal belongings that people gathered up in their homes. Harry found himself wincing as glass crashed and furniture fell.

"Ugh, this was on the Muggle box," one of the hooded figures said dumbly.

The leader snatched the paper from his hands. "Lunch with Fred, twelve-forty five. Let's go."

Without a second glance at their destruction, the three Death Eaters Apparated.

"Did you see who they were?" Ron asked Harry, who was standing closest to the edge of the screen.

"No. Draco?" Harry was looking at Malfoy, he was ashen.

"Those were Crabbe and Goyle," he said and then shook a little. "And the man-- the man was my father." He looked at Harry clearly and unblinkingly.

"It's my father."


	8. Chapter 8

Well, I haven't written in ages. I have a ton of excuses from going houseshopping to being sick to my sister's birthday, but I'm sure no one wants to hear that, of course. I read all your comments, there were some I wanted to respond to but I haven't gotten the time, I apologize.

This part takes up right were the last chapter left off, so they'll be no date switches for a long time.

:

Harry and Draco had left the lunch unnaturally early. Actually, Harry had decided they should leave. Draco was becoming positively vicious, he was coy, peppering his sentences with double meanings about homosexuality and wizardry, he chained smoked the entire time and barely ate Fred's girlfriend's dinner. And when she had risen to check on dissert, Draco had kissed Harry to annoy Ron, who was also present.

"You were acting like a spoilt child," Harry said, frowning, as they walked home from the apartment.

"I was bored," Draco said, taking out a cigarette and twirling it maddeningly in front of Harry's face. "She was boring. Ron is boring. I simply can not stand to have my intellect insulted by trite conversationalists for longer than twenty minutes."

Harry bit down what he was going to say next. He knew why Draco disliked Ron so much. He had been the one to reveal their relationship in their last year at Hogwarts by posting pictures everywhere. And in his anger, Ron had his room changed, and had spread several vicious rumors. It was only years after Hogwarts, when Ron and Hermione had ended their disastrous relationship, that Harry had repaired those friendships.

Draco lit the cigarette and looked at Harry. "Thoughtful, today, aren't we?" He put his arm companionably across Harry's shoulders. "You aren't mad, are you, really?"

That was Draco's way, to be entirely impulsive, insulting and rude, and then smile sunnily and expect all to be forgiven. He was really very handsome, and he used his looks to his advantage all the time, even now he was pouting becomingly at Harry.

"No," Harry said, melting unwillingly. "I'm not." He took the lit cigarette from Draco's hand. "You really ought to stop, Malfoy, the fags are going to kill you."

"Aw," Draco said, putting his hand to his heart. "Are you worried about me dying?" But as soon as he said it, Draco wished it unsaid.

Harry's face darkened by degrees, so all the light and amusement that had filtered his features and brought them to light were now the same ones shadowing his soul. Immediately, as if in protection of his emotions, Harry's entire body tensed, and he looked by turns exhausted and depressed. They stopped by the bridge, looking out at the river; the cool night air was hitting their faces reminding that life surrounded them.

"I'm an arsehole sometimes," Draco said finally, when the silence was no longer companionable, but a burden. "I'll really stop this time, if it means that much to you." When no answer came, Draco became worried. "Potter?"

Harry was looking down at the water, watching its silent, illuminated beauty. He didn't want to think anymore, he never asked for things to happen, but they always did, one on top of the other, stacked like symmetrical blocks of misery. Usually he was chipper, happy, laid back Harry, but it was times like this that he remembered his mother's voice, the sound of Voldemort in his head . . .

"Hallo, Potter," Draco said tenderly, pulling Harry to him. "It was just an idiotic comment, eh? No reason to go off on a dark tangent."

"I'm fucking tired, Draco," Harry said into the padded shoulder of Draco's gray peacoat, "I'm tired of all of this, I'm tired of the fact that we can't have a silly little argument before it turns into a reminder of all of that. I want to forget it, and I can't and I hate that I want to forget her, I hate it."

Draco Malfoy said nothing. There was nothing to say, no magic words to make things better, to change the world. If Harry was tired, he was tired too. He was tired of waking up at night to Harry's screams, to the slight, paranoid things Harry would have to do to ensure they were all right, to the way that everything they did was a story for the papers, a children's chant and received the air of a game.

He narrowed his eyes suddenly. Draco hadn't looked that Slytherin in years.

"I believed in many things growing up, Potter," he said simply. "Pureblood superiority, wealth, ambition," he lowered his voice so it almost silent, "Voldemort. But I never believed in you, Potter. I hated you, and now I love you, but I never believed in you. I never thought you were the savior of the wizarding race. You've got a horrible streak of being both very lucky and very unlucky. That's all. I'm not looking for something to believe in. I'll believe in myself, thank you, and you've really got to stop the tortured hero bit, it's getting quite old."

"As for the cigs," he ran his hand across Harry's head softly as it buried itself deeper into the edge of his coat's collar. "Well, I survived the second coming, Auror training and the last battle, I suppose I can handle some Muggle concoction wrapped in paper."

A moment passed and Harry laughed hollowly, a half-sob into Draco's jacket. "If you stopped smoking you would just smell like coffee?"

"Pardon?" Draco said, confused.

"You smell like cigs and espresso. What would you smell like if you stopped smoking then?"

"I have no fucking idea," Draco laughed. "Harry, you are being absurd."

"I like being absurd," Harry said, opening his arms out and embracing Draco tightly. "I like the way you smell." He kissed Draco's wide red mouth. "And I do worry about you dying, because I love you," Harry said seriously. "It's a very selfish thing, love. I know if I give you up you'd be safe."

"Safe and miserable," Draco said, sprinkling ashes onto the ground. "Fucking miserable. Harry, we should go to Paris."  
"Paris?" Harry said, looking up from Draco's neck. He had been very intently nibbling the white flesh there. "Why are we going to Paris?"

"Because we're young and I'm a bloody orphaned galleonaire so we can," Draco said, putting his arms about Harry's neck. "And because you've got money yourself so if we run through mine we won't be skint. And because you've never been there. And because it's away from here and you need to get away from England for a while."

"Before I go mad, is that what you're saying," Harry laughed. They were nearly in front of their home.

"No, Harry," he responded. "Before you drive me mad."

Harry laughed. It felt brilliant to be laughing, to be with Draco, happy, at ease. Draco was brilliant at making disagreeable things disappear. The scene at the Thames felt like an old memory he was soon going to forget, or pretend never happened. Draco removed his arm from Harry's waist and put the key in their front door. Before they could enter Harry pushed Draco against the corridor's wall.

"Let's go," he said, copying Draco's impulsivity for once. "Let's go to Paris, then. It will be nice and we can get married there, since you love it so much."

"Oh, Potter," Draco said, biting down the urge to laugh out of pure glee. "Are you asking me to elope with you? What about the precious Alliance?"

"Bugger the Alliance," Harry mumbled, struggling to keep Draco pinioned to the wall while removing his jacket and biting his tilted head. "Say yes, Draco."

"Yes. But not to the Alliance, that's not my style, Harry," Draco sniffed. "There are some girls in it. Now, Mr. Potter, let's see what going on about you," Draco was very skillfully removing Harry from his pants and underwear when his foot hit something. And then there was feeling of crushing glass moved under his feet.

"Harry," Draco said, annoyed. What was broken?

"Shut it," he said softly, and the urge to complain was quickly fading. Harry turned his face to his own, and Draco noticed the sudden look of wanting and needing. "Oh, Potter don't be a sweetheart," he said, feeling slightly overcome. The kisses were becoming entirely too much to handle, and Harry was moving his hands downward-- Draco's hand shot out to reach for the corner table for support but his hand hit air.

Nothing. And the crushed something under his feet. Draco tensed, something was very wrong with the entire scene.

"Hmm, Draco darling," Harry said, covering Draco's unresponsive mouth with his own. He reached down and noticed that the man was no longer paying any attention to his carefully applied kisses and stroking. He sighed, his voice on edge. "What's wrong, now, Malfoy?"

Draco turned on the light and both men screamed.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8:

Draco had smoked eight cigarettes this hour and poured himself three cups of coffee, two of which had gone cold, and the third he was using as an ashtray. Harry was pacing the room, his shirt still unbuttoned and his hair ruffled from were Draco's hands had been in it earlier when they had stood against the wall. When everything was going marvelously and they were planning.

A loud click and the first member of the alliance came in the room. It was Hermione, mildly dishelmed, wearing a t-shirt that said Mommy in a gaudy print and had children's handprints on it, over faded jeans. She quickly embraced Harry and walked through Draco's smoky haze to kiss his cheek.

"My gods," she whispered. "When?"

"This afternoon," Draco said, dropping more ashes into his mug. "That was a bloody Malfoy vase from before the damned unification." He gestured tiredly to the crushed heap in the middle of the hall aisle. "Worth as much as a small country."

"Is anything missing?" Hermione asked impishly, as another crack sound appeared, and Ron was standing in the room, still wearing the causal suit he had worn at their lunch not two hours before.

"Shit," Ron said, turning red. "Shit. Sorry, mates. This is-- madness."

Draco shook his head sarcastically. "It's lovely, actually. I'd ask you to tea, Mr. Weasley, but it seems my tea set has been mashed by Death Eaters. Perhaps you'd rather chew on my crushed cigs, or you can drink Harry's butterbeer off the carpet?"

"Draco, please," Harry moaned, taking a seat next to the sardonic gray puff of smoke. "This isn't going to piece our lives back together."

"No, Potter," Draco said tiredly. "But it might amuse me in the midst of my broken dreams, and that's good enough for now."

Harry put his arm about Draco and slowly took the cigarette out of his mouth and dropped it into the cold coffee mug. Draco put his head in Harry's lap and on an automatic turn, he stroked Draco's hair.

As Ron paced, Hermione sat down on the table, catching snippets of their conversation.

"You're an arsehole."

"Oh Potter, you turn my head with your sweet nothings," was the rejoinder.

"Sweet? To a Slytherin!" Harry looked affronted at the thought.

"-- fuck you, you lousy--"

"-- Malfoy, you're only after one thing and that's pleasing yourself--"

"I never said that I wasn't!"

"Bastard!"

"My parents were married, thank you."

Harry was smiling again. "You're so stupid."

Draco frowned. "And here I was thinking you were smart Potter. I'm the cleverest person you'll ever meet."

"Sure, if you define clever as stubborn, selfish, idiotic, pedantic and inbred."

"Okay!"

The last word came from Hermione. "That's enough fighting!" She had a narrowed look in her eyes not much different from the look she used to scold her own children. Without questioning her authority, they fell silent, Harry amusing himself idly by twirling a piece of flaxen hair around his finger, holding it there and then repeating it again until Draco moved.

"That was a Malfada Avery," Draco moaned after an interval, and then added, "My Wedgwood chess set."

"I know, Draco," Harry soothed, patting his head. "We'll figure it out." Harry picked up a mashed box from the corner of the room. "Want a chocolate frog?"

Draco sat up with a ghostly smile and ate the frog, and he pecked Harry's cheek before lighting another cigarette. The pair of them looked like two battle weary soldiers to Hermione, their clothes wrinkled and opened, sitting in the middle of a mess of expensive, beautiful destruction.

A loud crack and Juliette Weston came in the room. She was wearing an enormous gray sweater and large black sweatpants; completely shielding her figure from view, over a size-too-big band t-shirt. "What the hell happened here?" She said loudly. "Fucking Death Eaters." She answered herself before anyone could speak.

She looked sorrowfully at Harry and Draco before rubbing her hands briskly together. "So, where's everyone else?"

"Dean's on his way," Draco said through his smoky haze. "And so's Severus and Remus and I have no bloody idea where Ginny is or Seamus. Hermione, where is your husband?"

"Someone had to stay with Sarah and the boys," Hermione said sheepishly. "We couldn't certainly leave them alone."

"Hermione, call Seamus and have him take the kids to your parents," Weston said briskly. "And send out a warning to the Alliance, this wasn't some flukish attack, this was a notice. Draco, give me a fucking cigarette will you. And Harry, if your sink isn't broken, I'd like a glass of water."

Everyone looked at Juliette, shocked. Then she snapped her fingers. "People, are we going to stand around like statues of angst, or are we going get things done? Thanks, mate," she said, taking one of Draco's cigarettes and coughing loudly. "God, these things are hundred-percent nicotine."

"Kills you off faster," Draco laughed. "Here Weston, have an American one."

Hermione came back in the room, nodding absently. "Seamus is coming. He took the children to my parent's as soon as the notice came in." She looked wearily at Weston. "So, what are we planning? An attack?"

"No," Weston said, exhaling smoke. "We haven't got that kind of manpower since the killings started, and we're not prepared, they could be anywhere. We need somewhere to go, a safehouse of sorts, before we can do any kind of counter attack--"

Crack. Seamus stood next to his wife. "Bloody hell," he said at once, then fell quiet. "Why aren't you two packed?" He accused. "We have to get out of here; the whole bloody place is trashed. There could be bugs anywhere!"

"And where would you have us go, Finnigan?" Ron said hollowly, threateningly from the corner where he stood.

"Listen, Ron, mate," Seamus said. "This isn't the time or the place to get shirty with me, eh? We've got to get a plan together. Weston?"

Juliette nodded. "Ron, calm down. Where do you think we should go?"

Seamus shrugged. "Montana. We could stay with Hermione's parents."

"Not a good idea," Weston frowned. "If we go, we're putting Muggles and your children in danger. That is, if we manage to even get there. To get out of Europe, we'd have to use our TransPorts, and the Ministry will be probably watching documentation like crazy, so our fakes will be caught. And then the Death Eaters will find us because of their friends in high places."

Everyone looked at Weston before Draco clapped his hands. "Brilliant, Weston, so where can we go, oh genius one?"

"Draco," Harry chastised again. "Weston's only trying to help."

But everyone was looking at Juliette attentively, and she was feeling the strain. "I don't know," she began hesitantly. "I didn't think it all the way through, you know. It just has to be somewhere no one would expect."

"Draco and I were planning on going to Paris," Harry began before Ron interrupted him.

"You were planning on leaving the country without telling us!" He sputtered. "Why! What possible reason could you have--"

"Harry doesn't have to explain his life to you, Weasel," Draco began, annoyed.

"Mates, please," Seamus frowned from the corner of this room.

"Don't get involved in this, too, Seamus--" Ron hissed.

"Ron," Hermione pleaded. "That was so long ago, really--"

"Enough!" Weston screamed. "E fucking nough! Draco, what's your favorite place in the world?"

"Wherever Harry is," Draco said, half-mockingly and half-seriously. "All right, Paris. So the idea's shit. Where is a place no one would expect?"

It was Hermione that spoke. She looked at Draco and gasped. "Malfoy Manor. We could go to Malfoy Manor."

Everyone became silently. If Harry's federal grandfather clock hadn't been smashed to pieces its tick-tocking would have been the only sound in the house. Silently, almost motionlessly, Harry took Draco's hand and clasped it tightly in his own. And they sat silently, all waiting for Draco to decide if he once again wanted to set foot in the house which had belonged to his deceased parents. All knowing it was the safest place for them to go.

Draco exhaled his cigarette smoke and looked at Harry. Then he shrugged. Though he contrived to make it look easy, Harry knew it had taken every ounce of his strength and pride to do it.

"Fine," he whispered, his voice hoarse from smoke and worry. "Let's go. We'll kill ourselves either way."

In the basement, four children sat hiding, huddled together despite their animosity.

Knowing what came next.


	10. Chapter 10

Here's another chapter, quite smutty as it was inspired by my best friend, haha. There's nothing much to say except thank you all very much for the comments and praise.

I actually finished this story ages ago, you know, so the sequel is nearly done as well. I just should post more often, I suppose.

(Insert asterik-filled break here before story begins)

Chapter Nine:

"They've gone," Harry said, moving from the corner of the basement were he was sitting. "We've gone," he corrected, feeling foolish. Which one was he, Harry, anyway? The man who had left or the boy still behind? Flustered, he ignored his thoughts.

"Good." Draco said, stretching his legs. "So when do we get killed anyway?"

"Professor Dumbledore never said, did he?" Ron responded, dropping his hostility in the midst of worry. "What should we do?"

"We should follow ourselves," Hermione said seriously, feeling the oddness of the words in her mouth. "But how can we get to Malfoy Manor? I haven't learned to apparate yet, and I'm the most advanced student here."

"I don't think so," Draco said, insulted by her claim. "But still, we haven't got any way unless we Floo there. That is, if the Floo Network still works to the Manor. It sounds abandoned."

Harry looked at Draco appraisingly. He had just learned his father was on the hunt for his friends and yet he was still unbelievably calm. Harry realized that Draco was probably in shock. He remembered his own feelings when he had lost Sirius. He didn't know what to say, so, oddly enough, he took the boy's hand.

Ron's eyes flintered over at them stonily, but before he could open his mouth, Hermione punched his arm and he fell silent. Without moving his hand from Draco's warmth, Harry looked up at the others. "If we are going to get to Malfoy Manor, we have to have Floo Powder."

"Who would have something like--" Ron started, but he saw the bag in Hermione's hand.

She shrugged proudly. "Before we left the living room, I grabbed it from on top of the fireplace. Lucky or it would be ground into the carpet and no use to us now."

"Merlin," Seamus couldn't help but say as they stood in front of the sprawling splendor that was Malfoy Manor. Ignored for nearly a decade since his parent's deaths, Draco hadn't set foot in it again. The ivy trellises his mother had the elf gardeners culture alongside the house had gown wild with time, attempting to almost overtake it. The Grecian columns and even, colonial bay windows appeared proud, distant and impenetrable to the others, even this close.

"Well, shall we?" Draco said, amused at their reaction.

They entered, and it was not at all as Harry had expected. No dusty remnants of a home, no furniture, nothing. A few bare chairs lined one of the walls and a massive lump covered in canvas was the only furniture in a room large enough to house half of the Hogwarts student body. A chandelier hung tiredly, suspended from a floral porcelain cup set in the ceiling, and a strange, high bookshelf stood against one wall, devoid of what it should contain.

"It's empty," Draco said numbly. He did not feel anything toward the house in which he had been raised. In fact, it was almost like visiting a fine hotel lost to time. It was not what he had expected. He had expected something, and the absence of anything was almost as surprising.

"I'll conjure some things," Hermione said, trying to help. Immediately, a dining room set appeared in the large sitting room, and as she tapped her wand towards the stairs Harry realized she had conjured furnished bedrooms as well.

"Dinner would be nice," Ron said, realizing how callous he sounded as soon as the words came out of his mouth. "Sorry."

"No," Draco said, forcing a smile only Harry could tell was fake. "We should eat something, right? Conserve strength and all of that."

"Right," Weston nodded briskly, taking out her wand. A few Latin phrases later, she had created a four course dinner, complete with champagne sitting in an ice box at the edge of the table. Reluctantly they all sat down, feeling almost a sense of blasphemy in eating at Malfoy Manor.

It took several glasses of never ending champagne to get a conversation started that was not awkward and stunted. It was Weston, ever the fearless, mouthy leader, who spoke first. "It must have been grand growing up in a house like this," she said, the wine loosening her words so that they came out in a long stream. "Compared to the shit life some of us had."

"Yeah," Draco sniffed, ignoring her barb. "Really fucking grand."

"Dontcha see he doesn't want to talk about it, Weston?" Seamus said, interrupting. "It isn't his fault you grew up like a Muggle in a dingy flat in Brooklyn."

"Shut your hole about Weston," Ron said, coming to Weston's defense. She looked at him curiously, almost as if she had something to add, but then fell silent. "Jules isn't doing anybody any harm by speaking out. And it isn't like you really belong here, is it, Finnigan?"

"Ron," Harry said. "Seamus is our friend."

"Bollocks," Ron snorted. "He's never been my friend. In fact he--"

"All of you need to calm down!" Weston said. "What kind of alliance are we if we can't even have a civilized dinner together? Draco, I'm sorry about what I said. Your life, mine, and Harry's were all shit. There. We had shitty childhoods. Good, it's settled. We might as we eat Hermione's cake--"

"Weston," Ron slurred, "You need to mind your own business. You don't know what happened, you went to Durmstrang."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Weston said, her fists balled up, ready for a fight. Harry watched them, amused. Weston could kill Ron easily, if she wasn't such a principled little brat.

"Everyone knows that Durmstrang was a breeding ground for Death Eaters," Ron said sniffing. "How do we know you're not a spy?"

"You--" Weston had her wand out in an instant. "I'll do you in so good you won't be able to tell your head from your arse."

Seamus mouthed laughter silently in the corner chair.

"How do we know," Ron continued viciously. "That you and Draco haven't lured the rest of us here so the Death Eaters can get us? Poetic justice, wouldn't it be, Weston, killing off all of us in one shot--"

Harry got up from the table and put a hand on Weston's arm. "Don't do it, Jules. Don't bother with him."

"Some friend you are, 'arry," Ron said. "Defending Weston and holding fucking Malfoy over me as well, just because he's a pretty shag--"

A chair slammed from edge of the table and hit the ground. When they turned around, everyone noticed that Draco had gotten up from the table. In the distance a door slammed, and Harry winced. It took a great deal to get Draco from sardonics to real, furious anger, but Ron had managed it. And Draco would be seething the entire night, for he had a slow burn.

"Merlin," Harry said, annoyed. Everyone seemed suddenly sober, even Ron was straight, and red-faced at his behavior. "Fuck you, Ron!"

Harry got up from the table, and went outside. He let the cold air cool his temper, before he saw Weston's shadow standing behind him.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I let tonight get out of control," she frowned.

Harry shrugged. "You can't be in control of everything, Weston. Calm down a bit." Weston nodded and gave a half-smile.

"Tell Draco I'm sorry, ay? I didn't mean anything by it."

Harry nodded and followed Weston's implicit advice. He found Draco after fifteen minutes of looking, sitting in the antechamber of some larger room. He had obviously conjured the furniture, Harry thought, the sofas and chairs were too similar to the ones which they had had in their own home and had been destroyed. Harry sighed, Draco's figure was hunched over, head in hands.

Harry thought for a moment, and then conjured a chair beside him. Hesitantly, after a moment, he put a hand on Draco's shoulder.

Draco turned away from Harry, stiffly, he was still annoyed or angry, Harry couldn't tell which. Nonplussed, Harry continued, drawing circles on his back, and then he moved off the chair. He knelt down and put his chin on Draco's lap, and turned Draco's clenched jaw with his fingers, so that their eyes met and held.

"You really can't leave me in peace, can you, Potter?" Draco said, but his eyes were bright and he was very close to smiling, a little smirk was playing at his lips.

"No," Harry laughed, pleased. "I can't. C'mon, Draco."

"I'm not mad anymore," Draco announced archly, kissing Harry's temple. "I shouldn't have risen to his bait."

"No," Harry frowned darkly, "Ron shouldn't have made it seem as if we didn't trust you." Harry looked at Draco seriously. "I do trust you. I trust you completely, Draco Malfoy, and I want you to know that."

"Very well, then," Draco said shortly. "It took you long enough to say it."

"You are still angry!" Harry said, accusatorily. "What is it, then!"

"Nothing," Draco frowned, shutting down, "I don't want to talk about it, is all."

"Oh, no, you're not doing this to me, Malfoy!" Harry screamed, as Draco moved to leave the room. Using his wand, he froze the door shut and manipulated it, so that it disappeared and the wall extended, so there was no way to enter or exit. "If you want a fight, Malfoy, I'll give you a fight!"

Harry backed Draco into a corner, his wand outstretched. "Don't bother trying to scare me, Potter," Draco said, his eyes narrowed into bluish gray slits. "You don't have the balls to hurt me."

"I don't?" Harry said, becoming dangerously quiet.

Draco stared him down recklessly. "You don't."

Harry grabbed Draco's shoulders and pushed him down; they both hit the floor hard, Draco's head slamming mercilessly against the carpet. Not letting a moment pass, Draco's Auror training came back to him in a flash of brutality, and he rammed his knee into Harry's stomach, causing the other man to gasp, and taking advantage of that moment, Draco pushed Harry against the floor, his hands making sharp contact with Harry's hipbones as he forced him down.

"I told you," Draco smirked, but in the next moment one of Harry's fists made contact with the delicate region between Draco's ribs. "Merlin!" Draco screamed, becoming enraged.

Furiously, Draco raised a fist, and missed making contact with Harry's nose and instead hit his open mouth. For a moment both men were shocked by the sudden influx of pain, Harry's lower lip was visibly bleeding and Draco's knuckles were raw from where they had hit bone. Unclenching his hand, with the lesser of the two injuries, Draco crushed his own foot hard down on one of Harry's feet and tumbled him over, so that once again he was atop him. Cleverly he pushed a knee into Harry's stomach and held him down.

"Give up?" Draco sneered. "You are bleeding."

"So are you," Harry countered as Draco's face inched closer to his own. Draco looked down at his hand. The skin had teared and it was indeed bleeding.

"Bastard," Draco said, his vanity hurting more than his hand. He applied more pressure on his bent leg, causing Harry to groan.

"What are you going to do about it?" Harry teased underneath him, feeling his reaction tight in his pants. Draco was fucking hot when he was furious, and Harry had pushed him very far, farther than he had ever before.

For a moment it looked as though Draco might ram his forehead against Harry's and possibly render them both unconscious, but in the next moment he was laying flat against Harry, his mouth pliant and easy, urging the other's open with no resistance. Draco kissed Harry with all the fury he had rushing through his veins, the adrenaline was fast, potent, and he was holding Harry down and kissing him madly. Absent of his mind, he tasted blood in his own mouth and moaned, the taste was incredibly inviting.

Harry had no control over what was happening, he was mildly shocked before the surge of energy had him tugging desperately at Draco's clothes, trying to find evidence of the same burning arousal which was coursing through his veins. Finally removing all of their clothes quickly, Harry's hand latched onto the proof of Draco's desire.

"You want me," he said, his hand moving across Draco's length viciously, causing him to cry out and he pinned Harry's hands above his head.

"I always fucking want you," Draco sneered. He looked at Harry, perfectly content to be submissive this time, and the desire nearly destroyed his last ounce of reason. Their clothes lay around them like a mad geometric design, its message unclear. Pinioned beneath Draco, Harry arched his back so that his throbbing desire met Draco's, and instinctively they began to move together.

The heat was nearly unbearable between their bodies, their senses were gone, it was an act of fierce, animalistic force. Kisses were left half-completed as one of them screamed, nails dung harshly into skin as another moaned the other's name, skin glistened with sweat and fire and a want so large it threatened to overtake the entire room. Draco found his mouth at Harry's neck and as they moved together, he cried out as his orgasm came, biting down hard onto the gentle flesh.

Draco rolled over and rested on his back, panting wildly, as if exhausted from the exertion. Looking at Draco, his brilliant shining white skin, and there was something bright, silent, and lovely and he came. Amused, Harry noticed that Draco was once again hard and waiting. Carefully, he crossed the over to Draco, his hands drawing long lines across Draco's chest, leaving little red trail marks of ownership.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Draco panted, his body jerking furiously.

"No," Harry smiled, nuzzling his head onto Draco's lower stomach and kissing him, amazingly gently. "I'm going to erase every thought in your head, Draco Malfoy," he whispered, the green eyes locking with the blue. "I'm going to take out every memory and I'm going fill your head with me."

"Harry--" Draco moaned. Whatever Harry's maddening intention was, he was succeeding, in this red-rimmed haze, Draco saw nothing but Harry-- his hands on his hips, his mouth kissing the inside of his thighs, the dark, musky smell of his skin surrounding him. Draco only faintly felt that he may have been angry once. Perhaps. But now he wanted Harry. Harry's beautiful, wide mouth to consume him.

As if reading his thoughts, Harry did just that the moment the mental picture came to Draco. The sweet velvet warmth of Harry's mouth was unbelievably gorgeous; there seemed no better word for it. Without much persuasion, Draco reached his orgasm again, screaming Harry's name madly in a string of babbling nonsense. One finally shout of his name, and Draco had completed.

Harry rose back and rested his head on Draco's shoulder, throwing his arm across the white torso in a rare sign of protective ownership.

"I thought you were going to kill me," Draco mused, kissing the top of Harry's moist head lovingly.

"Couldn't," Harry yawned, tucking his head and body so that they were better in line with Draco's. He formed himself around Draco, his body half thrown over him, with Draco's arm drawing him closer. "Couldn't because I love you too damn much." He finished lazily.

"Hmm-hmm," Draco gave a murmur of agreement, too tired to say much of anything else. Understanding, Harry smiled briefly and drifted off to sleep.

Though he was uncomfortable with Harry's weight pressed against his arm, Draco did nothing to move him. It was too secure, the numbing pain of having him close, feeling his warm, sleeping breath against his skin. There was a strange sense of deep foreboding in the marrow of Draco's bones as if on some level he knew this may not always be so.

But then sleep came in its merciless silent kindness and swept him away.

A knock. Rough. Loud.

"Umm, guys." It was Weston's voice, for once sounding unsure. "Everyone's arrived; I think you should come downstairs, if you're done."

Bolting awake, Harry and Draco laughed until their stomachs ached.


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, the reviews I've been getting lately have been asking questions, and I feel I should talk about a few things. If you have been asking me about what or when so and so will happen, remembering you're assuming that your idea will happen. I can't and won't say, I'll pull the just wait and see card.

Secondly, someone asked me what was with the Malfoy/Potter, thing, that does get covered later, as does the response to "who do I think is the more dominant person?" Actually that gets answered below, basically that person read my mind!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and I am nearly done with this story (posting-wise) and venturing tentatively to end it's sequel, hoping that the latest book does not kill it entirely.

**Chapter Ten:**

Using the Floo Network wasn't easy when there wasn't an adult wizard helping you. Remembering his first disastrous try, Harry spoke loudly and clearly, but still managed to land firmly on his bottom. The others, who had all gone before him were standing in the large upstairs hall of Malfoy Manor. Draco extended a hand to Harry and he did not hesitate to take it. The two boys stared at each other before the cracking sounds began. Many people were Apparating downstairs.

"They've come," Hermione said, walking out to the balcony so that she could see what was happening downstairs. "Professor Lupin and Professor Snape and Ginny and Charlie and --oh-- " Hermione gasped, seeing herself hugging Seamus.

"Well," Draco said, amused. "Seems like me and Harry aren't the only relationship in the Alliance."

"Shh," Harry hissed. "I can't hear what they're saying."

Plans, carefully executed and studied were being made downstairs. Harry listened to his own voice, in the future-present, voicing fears about everyone but himself, but especially Draco.

"We'll use Harry and Draco as bait," Remus said hesitantly. "We'll charm the house, and some of us will have to go out and find them. The last one -- who isn't injured, that is, must tell them where Harry is. This way we ensure the safety of the other aurors who aren't in the Alliance or the Order, or they'll kill them off one by one searching us out."

And then Harry heard Weston, known only to them as some elusive figment volunteering herself to find the Death Eaters responsible for what had happened. Ron, in a hesitant voice, filled with fear, agreed to go with her. Then Seamus, boldly, despite the loud cry his wife gave.

"Seamus!" Hermione's voice lost its adult poise, and the child Hermione, sitting at the foot of the stairs took in a deep breath.

"I've got to, Moines," he said, almost proudly. "We've got those snots you claim are my children-- we've got to give them a nice, peaceful world too. Don't even say you are going with me. Children need a mother more than a father."

These were the Aurors, they realized. The saviors of the future, the protectors of the wizarding past. In some even more distance future their names would be written down with praise, and school wizards would study them with envy.

But only they would understand. The final battle had begun, and they had willingly set themselves as the first causalities.

Both the children upstairs and the adults downstairs knew it was only the beginning.

Draco didn't dream. Harry used to call him the "dreamless wonder" when they first began to spend nights together and he had flinched about it, a sore spot. Either Harry forgot or didn't tease him about it any longer, seeing he was sensitive.

But this was no dream. He was walking through the halls of his first apartment, a dingy flat with a tendency for murky water, that had been his home before his parents had died, after they had disowned him in everything except their wills.

The living room was as he remembered, bare and yet welcoming, and there was someone crying in the corner. Horrified, Draco walked towards the edge of the room. He realized that Harry was already there, comforting the person.

"Don't cry," Harry said mournfully, touching the figure's shoulders. "Please don't."

The figure turned. It was a man with a skull like head and red, reptilian eyes. He laughed softly. "You are dead, Potter."

"No!"

Draco's eyes bolted open. For a moment he stared at the ceiling, shocked. The tiles stared back, impassive. His mouth felt faintly used, he was sure he had screamed the no aloud. Finally, his eyes turned to Harry, deep asleep.

He had strived and succeed. Harry would never know how much he needed him, everyone would always remember Malfoy as proud and distant, the "what does he see in him" type of relationship. Now it seemed too late to change anything, or everything. Draco sighed as he watched Harry's eyes move quickly under their lids. Dreams. Hesitantly, not to wake the spell of sleep, he put his fingers against the mouth beside him softly.

"Harry," he said, looking at the ceiling and not where his hand lay. "I need you."

He felt the lips curl before the words came, hot and moist against the whorls and turns of his fingertips.

"I know you do, Draco." He opened his eyes, in the barely risen morning sun they glowed golden between little spurts of green. "You know, sometimes I think you want me more than I want you." There was mischief twinkling in the corners, eyes large and lovely without the shield of glasses.

"Don't be absurd, gorgeous," Draco laughed bitterly.

"I'm not being absurd," Harry said. Draco tensed. He was always so simple, so direct. "And you do think I'm gorgeous."

Draco looked at the ceiling. It was once again impassive. _Look back at him. _His head commanded him. _Now. _He looked at Harry, twisting his head upward, as he was higher on the bed. It literally ached sometimes to look at him, and the pain in Draco's neck was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. He was lovely, Potter was.

"You are gorgeous," Draco pronounced quickly, putting his lips chastely against Harry's. "Gorgeous, Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes widened, but he said nothing as Draco's arms pulled him close. He smelt warm and safe and deep, like the musk waiting scent after a rainfall. Harry breathed in deep and let the scent overwhelm him, and the half-formed nightmares disappeared and he was home, a home created in sleep and comfort.

Only Draco lay awake, clutching the sleeping body to his possessively. He remembered they were in Malfoy Manor. He remembered there was a war still raging silently, dying slowly behind them. He remembered another idiot wanted his gorgeous Harry dead.

"Goddamn everything except Potter." He said, and finally allowed his eyes to close warily.

**Paris, New Years, 12am, 2007**

Weston walked past the gathering Muggle crowds, mindless to the hugging and kissing taking place all about her. She walked down a narrow alley, one of the few in the wide, open streets of the French capital and waited.

No one would be looking tonight, she reasoned correctly. And not for her, dressed like a Muggle coming from a party in a dark overcoat coving a slinky navy sequin dress. Annoyed at her contact's lateness, Weston scratched at the cheap blonde bob wig she had gotten to cover her trademark black curls. Contacts and heavy makeup nearly disguised every distinguishable feature she had, along with some careful magic.

Damn, Weston thought. They had strict rules, the Alliance. Five minutes at any location and then it was considered unsafe. It was going on three and her contact had never been this late before. Weston dared to look at the crowd of Muggles, trying to search out anyone that would look faintly like him.

But of course he wouldn't look like himself, either, would he? Weston rested her body against the stone wall; her high heels were nipping at her feet mercilessly. She had protested wearing them, but Draco had insisted. Cigarette in mouth, he had frowned and told her Muggle girl's loved high shoes.

Four minutes. Shit. Weston was becoming fearful. The Alliance had an unspoken agreement. If a contact was late, they were to assume the worst. Weston didn't want to think about that. She pushed the thought far back in her mind. He was just a little late, was all. Maybe it was hard to find a place to Apparate with all the Muggles partying.

30 seconds. Weston bit down on her lip. Merlin.

10 seconds. Weston felt a tear forming in her eyes. He wasn't the first Auror to die that she had known, but-- Weston swallowed a knot forming in her throat and looked at the cheap Muggle watch she was wearing.

Time. She heard the watch beep once, and instinct took over. She walked out into the street and waved her hand out like she had done hundreds of times growing up in the city. Sitting back in the taxicab, Weston closed her eyes and told the driver the address of the hotel she was staying in.

"Mademoiselle, are you all right?" The cabby asked. Weston's eyes were heavy with tears she wouldn't allow to appear. "You look as though you lost a beau."

The French and love, Weston mused to herself bitterly. Strange obsession, she thought, but true this time. Weston nodded her head curtly, and the driver paid her no more mind, instead focusing on the crowded streets. Weston realized she had loved him, wholly, completely, their strange, hateful, hidden relationship was the reason she kept on when she had no more strength.

And yesterday he had told her he loved her and she had said nothing in return, she was so happy and afraid.

And now Ron Weasley was dead.


End file.
